A Sandwich and A Letter
by Vietta
Summary: Reno meets Tseng in a delittle and gets unexpected news. Reno/Tseng implied relationship.


When I meet with Tseng, it's in a sub shop that calls itself a deli. It's a little place crammed into the same building as a coin laundry and just barely far enough off from a car wash to keep spray from hitting the windows. The resulting noise of dryers banging on one wall and cars revving outside the other makes it easier to have quiet, unimpeded conversation. The seats are cheap plastic ones that look like they were slowly stolen from various patios, all different colors and sizes with barely a match to be found, but it reminds me of my childhood in Sector Seven. When I sit next to Tseng, with a lot of creaking from me and my chair, I have to look up to see him where he sits perched on a plastic green stool with a tattered and fading cushion still desperately hanging onto the seat.

He looks as out of place as the chair in crisp slacks and a collared shirt, the matching three-button jacket draped across his knees. The dryers that rattle against the thin wall to our right make this dingy little sandwich shack as hot and humid as Ifrit's fiery balls and little crescent moons of sweat stain Tseng's neat sleeved shirt. There is a sandwich waiting for me, wrapped in plastic and turning soggy. This tells me that Tseng got here early (much earlier than he said to meet here) since the shop owner was able to bully him into buying something, only to feel the need to gift wrap it to be taken home.

I work on the cellophane and try to settle more comfortably into my stout yellow chair. "How long you been here?"

"Forgot to reset my watch when I left Corel." He sips at something in a Styrofoam cup, looking straight ahead like the kitchen of this place is fascinating.

I remember to chew whatever is on this soggy sandwich before I continue. He makes a point of not answering my questions if I ask with a full mouth. "Ya left Corel two days ago."

The unasked questions are, 'what the hell kept you' and 'why the fuck did we meet here not at work'. He seems to gather what I haven't asked though. "I found something in Costa that was worth my while."

"Somethin' or someone?" I fish a rather depressed looking tomato out of the sandwich. I hate the food here. Even though this place sits out of the spray of the car wash, the breeze that gets sucked in through open windows meant to combat the laundromat induced heat make everything taste like soap.

He shifts, creaking that abused looking stool, and places an order with the old man behind the counter for a coffee. I decide to wait and gnaw at my sandwich some more, ignoring the strange chemical taste as best as I can. I haven't eaten yet today, so I'm hungry enough to get the job done. Besides, I get the feeling this old man would beat me with one of these flimsy plastic chairs if I refused the food. One thing us slummers never do is waste food. It may be easy enough for me to get now, but it wasn't always. I learned damn quick to eat whatever was put in front of me; food was fuel and little else. The first time I had real food; rich, exquisite, fresh food, I gorged myself and threw up twice. Legend was annoyed about it, but fed me anyways.

I had assumed that the order Tseng placed was for himself, to refill whatever was in that foam cup he's been sipping at, but I don't complain when a chipped mug gets set in front of me. I pointedly don't say anything as the old man sprays whipped cream on top and adds a squirt of caramel from a bottle I doubt has ever been cleaned. I do, however, raise an eyebrow at the little smile Tseng is trying to hide in his cup. "Is Elena comin' by?"

"This is how you try and break news to Avery, isn't it? Win her over with something lavishly sweet?" He sets the cup down and turns to face me, leaning on the scraped up wooden counter while he tries to bury that smile that's tugging the corners of his mouth.

"I ain't a rookie!" I frown, but grab the mug anyways. Avery, my Turk in training, is a bit of a sore spot. Tseng very much enjoys teasing me about how he thinks I baby her. The truth of it is, I train her how Legend trained me, and when I was still a rookie he'd splash a little honey or spray a little cream in my coffee when he wanted to soften bad or stressful news. It's just something I do because I know it worked for me. Since Avery has as good an appetite as me, and for much the same reason, I assume it'll work on her.

"But you still appreciate the thought." He shuffles through the jacket in his lap, pulling an envelope from a pocket. He pointedly waits for me to take a drink of the coffee, which tastes terrible, before setting the letter in front of me. He doesn't say a word, just waits for me to recognize the scrawl on the outside and pats my back when I choke on my coffee.

"Found him while waiting for the ferry to load up, while I was in Costa del Sol." He pats my back gently, trying to help me regain my composure. "Strangely enough, the old bastard was fishing. Seems a bit... boring, for an ex-Turk, don't you think?"

I respond once I've got air, turning the letter from Legend over in my hands. "He sat in house arrest for how long? He got borin'."

"He lowered his guard. Quite a bit actually." Tseng is smiling, rubbing small circles on my back. It's comforting for sure, but since it's also hot as hellfire in here it's a short lived comfort. "I decided to take an extra day in Costa, just to see how much."

I stand, leaving my mostly finished sandwich and barely touched coffee where they sit. I've got a letter from my mentor and I refuse to read it in this heap. Tseng gathers as much and settles up his bill while I walk outside. He catches up to me easily enough and falls into step beside me, his jacket draped casually over his arm. "Can't read it just anywhere."

"Not readin' it with the taste of soap in my mouth." I plan on going home or at least my office before tearing open the letter, which is tucked carefully inside my jacket.

Tseng takes my elbow in his hand, steering me in a new direction. "I've got my car. Let me give you a lift."

The ride is quiet; I don't even bother to ask where he's taking me because there are only so many options. I finger the envelope, waging war on my own mind as I try and envision just what the contents might be. It's light, Legend was never wordy, and it makes me just a tad nervous to speculate on what he might have to say to me.

Turns out Tseng is feeling quite generous today, because he brings me to his apartment. It's not in the best part of Edge, but it's a helluva lot nicer than mine. We remain in companionable silence all the way to his door, neither of us really needing to break it.

Tseng makes coffee. I'm sitting at his kitchen table. It's small, just big enough for two people, but Tseng doesn't need anything bigger. It's not like he has regular company. I reckon I'm the only one who gets to see the way he lives with any kind of regularity, but that's a privilege I've earned.

The letter is in front of me, still unopened, when Tseng sets a mug in front of me. He sits across from me, our knees touching, and raises an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to open it?"

I sip the coffee (it tastes amazing) and work at unsealing the envelope. Tseng is concerned, obviously, by what might be inside. Legend and I didn't exactly part on the best terms. He didn't part with any of us on good terms. Thought it easier to just get carted off, I suspect.

I shake out a gritty feeling piece of paper, wondering just how much sand the man let's accumulate as I unfold his letter and let grains mar the otherwise clean table. The paper is yellow (from age or how much Legend smokes I'll never know ) and so black ink stands out.

My eyes tear down the page, soaking in the message eagerly. It's both apology and invitation; a break in years of self imposed radio silence. His phone number is scrawled at the bottom along with his address.

Anytime, Kid.

Tseng touches my wrist, pulling my attention. "Reno?"

I fold the letter, clearing my throat. "I'm fine. It's all good." I feel strangely light, giddy with the promise of seeing a father figure who's been dead to me for ages. "Not exactly what I expected."

Tseng's hand squeezes lightly, all reassurance. "He let his guard down. A lot."

"No shit." I shift and hold his hand, relaxing as I set the letter down. "Wanna have dinner?"

"Didn't I just feed you?" He doesn't try to rescue his hand and a smile warms his face.

"That sandwich was fuckin' terrible."

"I can make us something quick then." He stands and I follow, dragged by the grip we have on each other. "Will that be a good enough apology for all the pretense at Halem's Deli?"

"Maybe," I step closer, cupping his cheek, "it depends on how quick you plan to be tonight."

He laughs and let's me pull him in for a kiss, his hand squeezing mine. The rest of the day we'll spend cooking and enjoying each other's company. It's a rare treat to have a night to ourselves, and I'm sure we won't waste it.


End file.
